


Strange My Heart

by voleuse



Category: A Dead Djinn in Cairo - P. Djeli Clark
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: Who can lull and calm down my heart?Fatma still hasn't made up her mind.
Relationships: Fatma el-Sha'arawi (A Dead Djinn in Cairo)/Siti (A Dead Djinn in Cairo)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Strange My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Blue Escapist (TheBlueEscapist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueEscapist/gifts).



> Set after _A Dead Djinn in Cairo_.

Fatma didn't think herself sentimental, but sometimes she reveled in Cairo at night. It was, of course, riddled with seedy neighborhoods, plagued by criminals, and haunted by history. It was also, however, entrancing: The plush midnight blue of the sky desaturating into the charcoal gray of the shadows. The cityscape's angles and curves, any grime or neglect cloaked away. The scents of cardamom and smoke, charred bread and labdanum. 

Another benefit of her bespoke suits, aside from striking both colleagues and suspects into wariness. The suit, the cane, and the attitude all served to distinguish her from her surroundings. Othering herself meant she could shift roles, make moves with relative ease: her tailored presence was disruption enough to distract.

She strolled through Khan el-Khalili, where the gaslights tended to distract one from the night's enchantments. She'd completed her last round of paperwork a while past her official working hours, but well short of the norm. Feeling reluctant to return home just yet, she had decided to find a replacement for her broken cane--at least, a temporary one, as she was unsure whether she would discover one of the same quality at random in the bazaar.

Fatma flipped a coin to a nearby vendor in trade for a warm square of freshly-baked basbousa, then began her search.

***

Siti leaned against the wall, watching the detective saunter through the market, snacking on cake. Siti wondered how el-Sha'arawi managed to avoid getting any crumbs at all on the lapels of her periwinkle suit. The detective, despite her English suit and accompanying accouterments, she seemed to blend into the crowd with ease, moving smoothly and leaving eddies of quiet in her wake.

A scuffle and a loud exclamation pulled Siti's attention to a booth just in time to something small and gold streak down the aisle. The vendor, Hama emerged from behind his booth to scowl before setting his satchels of cumin and coriander aright. Siti chuckled as she watched similar chaos break out across the market. Nothing devastating, just enough to be annoying--a shelf of used books jarred crooked, a couple of pomegranates dislodged. 

Finally, the troublemaker wandered up to Siti, brushing its head against Siti's ankles before hooking its claws and leaping up until it perched on Siti's shoulder. She tapped one of the cat's front paws. "Just another night, eh, Sariyah?" Sariyah purred and curled her tail around Siti's neck.

When Siti turned her attention back to the market, the detective was gazing straight at her.

***

Fatma returned her attention to the vendor, murmuring a quick _shukran_ as they exchanged money and goods. She stepped away from the stall and looked around quickly to make sure she had a clear space. Then she held the cane upright before her, examining the carving spiraling down the teakwood from its head, whose curve hinted at a jackal's head. She liked the weight of it, spinning it once, then twice in a circle before catching it to spear into the dirt.

"Normally those are used for walking," Siti said. The cat stayed perched on her shoulders as Siti strolled up.

Fatma shrugged, curling her palm around the crown of the walking stick. "I would prefer to be prepared."

"Indeed." The cat flowed off Siti's shoulders and back onto the ground. It eyed Fatma's wingtips with suspicion. "Sariyah finds you intriguing."

"Just Sariyah?" Fatma raised an eyebrow. The cat, wisely, did not attempt to sully Fatma's trousers but instead placed its paw over one of her shoes for a moment.

Siti tilted her head. "I believe you still owe me a meal."

***

The restaurant was a cozy one, the atmosphere warm even though the hour was relatively late. Siti weaved confidently through the arrangement of tables, picking one somewhat close to the kitchen. The server, an older gentleman, clucked at Siti when he came to them. She rolled her eyes, muttering something in a dialect Fatma didn't know, then the server disappeared.

"My uncle," Siti explained. "He'll bring us what's best tonight, but if you have any preferences--"

Fatma shook her head. "I would never question a chef."

"Wise choice," Siti said. Her earrings, the moon between Hathor's horns, shone in the candlelight. "So why the suits?" Siti asked. Her uncle arrived, sliding the first two dishes onto the table. 

Thus their meal passed, trading quick tales between courses, somehow skirting around things like heresy and law-breaking. Fatma talked about her studies in Luxor while Siti talked about growing up in a Cairo kitchen. They talked about the latest ghul attack, about the dollmaker, about the suffragettes. Neither of them talked about how they learned to fight.

When dessert arrived before them, Fatma found herself surprised. When she looked around, there were only a couple of tables left. She moved to pay, but Siti shook her head. 

"I'll be covering for one of my aunts in a couple of weeks," she said. "To take your money now would be to invoke insult against my family's hospitality."

Fatma stared until Siti shrugged. "Fine," Fatma conceded. "But next time, I will insist."

"Next time?" Siti purred. She had leaned across the table, put her hand upon Fatma's at some point. 

Fatma considered debating the point but then decided against it.

***

Outside the restaurant, the sky was velvet-dark. Fatma eyed Siti with amusement. "Don't tell me you're going to walk me home," she said.

Siti stepped closer, catching Fatma's lapel, then the end of her tie. "Maybe."

Fatma opened her mouth to respond, but then something slammed into the both of them, knocking Fatma over and Siti across the alley. Fatma lay stunned for a moment before scrambling up. A few buildings away, she caught a glimpse of an emerald-green djinn before it wisped around a corner. Somewhere behind them, someone was wailing.

Siti snarled, hitching her skirt up so it wouldn't impede her legs, clad in trousers. She looked at Fatma as she drew a long knife from her belt. "Coming?" she asked.

Instead of answering, Fatma started the chase.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from "[A Strange Heart](https://identity-mag.com/need-celebrate-poet-gamila-el-alaily-google/)" by Gamila El Alaily.


End file.
